


If I Fail to Recognize

by RobinWritesChirps



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Banter, Domestic, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/pseuds/RobinWritesChirps
Summary: "Oh, don't make a fuss, it's not like I'm giving you a death sentence. You're my special man, that's all.""I'm not special."Jane smirked. Her leg stretched to poke her foot against his calf playfully."Yeah, you are," she said, teasing him as though he were their young son and not her very adult husband. "You’re a very special boy."In which Tom receives a casual impromptu diagnosis that comes in handy years later when he takes in the Fosters. Sometimes, the best way to solve your own problems is to help someone else.
Relationships: Background Jane Perkins/Tom Houston, Background Tom Houston/Becky Barnes, Hannah Foster & Tom Houston, Lex Foster & Tom Houston
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	If I Fail to Recognize

**Author's Note:**

> This couldn’t possibly be more self serving as a fic but let me live lmao hope you enjoy.

"Busy bee?" Jane slapped her hands on his shoulders from behind the couch, startling Tom so suddenly he dropped the pair of scissors he had been holding and had to dive to the ground to pick them up again.

He glanced back at her, who gave him a peck on the forehead before sitting on her armchair with the book she had left there just a moment prior. After their son was put to bed by either one of them, she would often join him for some quiet time together, unperturbed by the little monkey of a kid they had made. She would read whatever clever books it was that she was diving into and make the occasional comment to hold a sparse but very pleasant conversation with him, who had little knowledge of all things intellectual she relished in. Tom loved the excitement in the daytime of raising their son, who was more than a handful already and getting chattier still since starting first grade, but the down time at night with just his wife was just as rewarding. Jane did have a soothing quality to her, a strength he relied on day in, day out.

"I interrupted," she said, smiling as she searched for her page − Jane never liked to leave books open and she thought bookmarks were childish, so she kept her place by remembering it, another tidbit heaping onto the large sum of her vast knowledge. "What’re doing anyways? Timothy said you were so focused he had to yell to say goodnight."

Tom huffed in soft laughter. Tim was full of life and passion, an energy that often clashed in contrast with his own quiet and reserved nature. He loved him just so, of course, and he never ceased to be surprised by him. Or, very often, startled. The boy would make a game of it and though Tom feared for his poor heart if he kept at it for many years to come, the reward was in the giggles of his son and the bond they were forging.

"Yeah, he gave me a good scare," he said, smiling. "I’m just cutting labels off of those clothes you made me get."

Remnants of growing up poor, Tom never bought himself more clothes than he strictly needed. Jane, who had a taste for fashion and new things (or at least more than he did), occasionally splurged on a small shopping spree to give her husband a proper wardrobe at his taste and her wallet. Tom let himself be spoiled if it pleased her, but both of them were well aware that he would still choose his favorite plaid flannel every other day if it was clean enough.

"Oh, you _would_ do that," she said. She found her page and started reading, only to pause and look up at him. "Sensory issues are so widespread among autistic individuals."

Tom frowned, misunderstanding. He looked down at the pile of garments next to him, the shirt he was cutting all labels of presently. They made his skin itch when he left them there and he had no patience for that.

"I don’t have autism."

Jane reached over and picked up the few scraps of discarded scratchy fabric the kitten had started playing with. She rubbed them between her fingers and let them fall again to the cat’s great delight. Jake the Dog was as lively as the boy who had picked him from the shelter and named him. She gave Tom a mysterious smile in corner, the clever smile she only gave when she knew she was outsmarting him. This was a smile he saw every day of his life.

"Well, I know you don’t like labels, dear," she replied and went back to her book.

Tom was lost in confusion. He glanced back and forth between the shirt in his hands and his wife sitting unbothered flicking a page of her book, not quite understanding her. Tom was used to not understanding everything around him, though it was a shame of his rather than an avowed flaw. Of all the things in the world he wished to understand, his own mind topped the list and Jane was with one sentence tumbling down what he had believed about himself.

"What are you talking about?" He said with a certain grouchiness he was trying to reign in. "I'm not autistic, nobody ever said anything like that at the physical and everything. Why are you saying that?"

"Oh, don't make a fuss, it's not like I'm giving you a death sentence. You're my special man, that's all."

Tom disliked being forced to change a view he had spent his life establishing, especially on himself. His fists clenched anxiously and he tapped his fingers against his lap to calm down. An exact pattern of the right sounds, the right fingers in a certain order, known to no one but himself but it made sense to him. Some things still did.

"I'm not special."

Jane smirked. Her leg stretched to poke her foot against his calf playfully, caressing through his pajama pants.

"Yeah, you are," she said, teasing him as though he were their young son and not her very adult husband. "You’re a very special boy."

But even she could see that Tom was not smiling along and she sighed, putting down her book again.

"I’m just saying you have some markers," she explained in an overly patient tone. "You have _plenty_ of sensory issues, you thrive on routine, you can’t talk about anything that isn’t of interest, you don’t know what social skills are to save your life, you want things your way without a hitch, you don’t get sarcasm…"

"No, I don’t," he retorted, suddenly on the defensive. "I don’t do those things or… or anyone does them. Everyone likes things their way."

Jane was smiling more genuinely now, leaning back into the armchair as though this was a game they were playing. Jane always won.

"Just the other day, you redid all of Tim’s Lego sets while he was at his best friend’s."

Tom felt ashamed of himself and he was certain his cheeks were burning up. He did not know why he was so upset. It was no death sentence, she was right, but it was a change of perspective. And it wasn’t the truth.

"He did them wrong," he retorted. "There’s a booklet for a reason, they give you the ways to build ’em."

"Uh huh," Jane nodded, "And you’ve never cooked without a recipe in your life."

"I gotta follow instructions! I can’t just make up as I go, that’s not… That’s not how it works."

Annoyed, he began cutting the labels again and pushed the kitten away with a gentle foot when he tried to play with the fabric once more.

"You can’t stand the feel of labels," Jane went on. "You can’t stand the smell of pastry, the smell of seafood, you’re far more of a picky eater than our son, you can barely look at the sun without going blind, you obsess about finding everything where you left it, you can’t rest until you’ve found something anyone has lost around you, you startle at every harsh sound, you have so many rules about what you wear it’s a miracle I don’t find you wandering out naked every day. Thank the Lord you’ll wear plaids, love."

Tom felt as though under attack, even if none of the facts were particularly incriminating. They were all accurate, but he did not understand the picture she was trying to paint. Half of those were memories from the war anyways, though there had been inklings of them before too. His mother had always called him her sensitive boy, a fact Tom had denied vehemently throughout childhood and youth and become the man he now was to prove it.

"I don’t think… That’s not it. That’s just being a person. I’m not perfect, I have shit I don’t like."

"Who said anything about not perfect? Tom, I love you just the way you are. I’m just telling you what I observe. That’s my _job_ , if you forgot. What I do for a living."

"Of course, of course…"

He looked at her expectantly. It was a strange feeling to imagine that Jane would know him better than he did himself. He had never thought that to be true of her. Not Jane.

"You could go any length of time without seeing another person if I didn’t get your butt out," she said with some fondness − this, Tom had to admit, was the truest of all that she had said so far. "You don’t _get_ other people and you don’t always control how you come across. Emma has thought you were a jerk from the time you’ve met."

"Well, I don’t think _Emma_ is the judge of what’s what around here," he frowned. "Look, I know I’m not the most sociable guy…"

It was a clumsiness he had carried from childhood, acutely unaware of other people’s feelings and of his own. He did not make jokes, nor did he get them. Often, he pretended, for Jane’s sake and for Tim’s, but the laugh did not always come when it was most appropriate and Tim had often teased him about this.

"I _told_ you it’s okay," Jane said, chiding. "You like for things to stay the way they are. That’s common in neurodivergents, it’s nothing to be ashamed of." She gave him a glance and smiled to herself as if in victory over him. "Also you’re doing that thing with your fingers again, that’s called stimming, dear."

Tom caught himself tapping his fingers in his nerve and shoved them under his butt to stop them. If what Jane said was true… But it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. He had lived all these years without a clue, hadn’t he? Whatever diagnosis she was inventing him couldn’t be so important if he had lived a life without it. But then, if it was true and he had lived a full life despite it, it wasn’t such an impediment as he was thinking.

"I don’t think that’s true," he said resolutely. "I don’t think I’m autistic at all. I’m just a normal guy."

"Well, what do I know?" Jane said. She grabbed her book from the coffee table again and pried it open at the exact page. "I’m only a psychiatrist."

She reminded him of her casual diagnosis a handful of times in the years that followed. Not often, not nearly enough to make a habit of it, but enough that the idea had taken root inside his mind bit by bit. Tom did like to do things at his own pace, though. A pace that came to a sudden halt as the car crashed with screeching tires and broken glass. Any thought of the diagnosis was forgotten, buried in his grief for months on end.

It took building a family again for it to reemerge. He saw in Hannah much of what Jane had pointed out in him. Becky was patient and kind with the girl, Tim was a play partner, Lex was her favorite sibling, but Tom from the start felt a kinship with Hannah Foster he could not put into words. It was all in the way she kept her tongue for hours or days till she rambled on and on as soon as someone launched her into an interest of hers − Tom remembered a few rare bored one-sided conversations he had had with unwilling partners and promised himself to be the most engaged audience Hannah could wish for. It was in her aversion for some sensations that defied logic but made complete sense to herself alone, but he knew why and understood it. It was in how much fiercer her rejection of what she disliked than anyone around, but also her passion for what she loved. How anchored in her experiences and nobody else’s. Everything about the way she existed was impressive to him, relatable.

"You think she’ll like it?" He asked Becky, rubbing his forehead.

Becky paused and sat on the ladder, her belly bump bulging in front of her in the awkward position. A dozen times the past few days, Tom had offered her to relax and to let Tim and Lex help him out with the renovation but she had refused him every time. Pregnancy, she said, was not a sickness.

"Well, we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?" She smiled. "But I think she will. You picked well."

They were remaking Hannah’s room more to her taste in this new house they had moved into right before the baby would arrive. When Tom had asked her for what she would like, she had confessed that this was the first time in her life she would have a room of her own. All his life, Tom had loved to build things as a way to show people he cared − and for the sake of it, too. As he’d had his way, he thought that everything she had told him had been taken into account and that her room was everything a young teen might like, if he was any judge. He hoped so, anyways.

"You’re fretting," she said with fondness. She stood and at once Tom offered a hand she took more for his peace of mind than any need. "I promise she’ll like it. You’ve done a great job."

"And you," he said and kissed her temple. "Maybe I’ll hire you to help us out on the job with Lex, uh?"

She indulged the little fantasy of his and wrapped her paint-covered arms around his waist. They had made a good pair today, four hands working together to finish this before night.

"I’ll be your apprentice, sir," she told him.

A groan came from the doorway.

"First lesson," Lex said, "An arm’s distance between you two when there’s children around."

"There’s no children around," Tom grumbled. Still, Becky parted from him with a smile in corner.

"Children incoming!" Tim cried out from the hall.

They made a pretty party of two, Hannah in front of him, her eyes covered by his fingers and trying to wriggle her way out of his grasp. Becky gasped.

"Sweetheart, it’s not finished yet!"

But the deed was done and Tim pulled his hands from her eyes, pushing her gently to the center of the almost entirely renovated room. It smelled a lot like fresh paint and she squinted her nose uncomfortably, but her eyes willed with wonders greater than anything Tom had ever seen on the girl often so withdrawn. From startled, she turned overwhelmed with joy and she began to hop from corner to corner and check everything, all the little nooks of pretty things and fuzzy sensations they had built her, all the right colors, all according to taste. She plopped down in the armchair with her ukulele, ready to lose herself in her little songs, but her excitement gave way to concern rather suddenly and she frowned.

"Where’s my notes?"

"Your notes?"

All the happiness sapped from her in an instant as she began searching everywhere, every possible surface or drawer or cubby, all the places Tom and Becky had taken days to make as lovely as they could, just like she had wanted them. She was running frantic with it and Lex tried to comfort her.

"Hey, what notes? Banana, calm down…"

But Hannah was less calm with every passing moment and Becky, Tom and Lex glanced at each other with the same worry. Tim reached out to touch Hannah’s arm but she tore from his grasp.

"I had notes," she said. "My music notes, I had them, I… Where are they…"

"I think she means her lyrics or something…" Tim said, looking very sad that he was so helpless, that they all were.

Hannah was whimpering painfully, swirling in circles and clutching her head. Tom’s heart sank in his chest.

"They’re lost, they’re lost, they’re lost…"

She was losing herself in the meltdown and stopped making sense, more shouts than words out of her mouth. When Lex made another attempt at comforting her, she lashed out and rolled up into a ball deep in her armchair, shaking where she was.

"What do we…" Tim tried to say but Becky was the one to react well.

Picking up Tom’s noise canceling headphones from where he had left it after the bulk of the carpentry was done, she gently placed them on top of Hannah’s head. At first nothing changed much, but the whimpering slowly receded and after some time, she was able to kneel down in front of Hannah and hold her hands. She stroked them softly and muttered words of comfort to her. Tom and Lex looked at one another and he saw on her face the same relief as he felt.

"I’ll go check the bin downstairs," she said. "Maybe you chucked it without noticing it was her writing."

"I’ll come with. Beck, can you…?"

Becky smiled at him and nodded.

It was Tom who ended up finding Hannah’s notes, a small stack of pages from mismatched notebooks marked with haphazard lyrics here and there they had discarded without knowing what they meant to the girl. She ran to him when he made an entrance again and hugged the papers to her chest. For an hour or two, she played her ukulele and though nobody was allowed inside when she did, Tom was delighted by the sound of it he could still hear through the walls.

Later in the day, he took her out for ice cream and they walked together along the park without a word, looking at the trees and flowers and ducks, feeling the wind in their hair, the sun on their faces. Just the two of them.

"You wanna finish mine?" He offered, handing out the little cardboard bowl where there were still two scoops of blueberry ice cream.

Hannah shook her head.

"I don’t eat blue," she replied, simple as that.

They sat on a bench and she looked everywhere around, dangling her legs merrily, staring at everything but him. He leaned back against the bench, sighed.

"We had a big scare earlier," he said. "When you were upset."

She did not say anything, though he thought she looked more concerned and her leg began to bounce. His fingers began to tap.

"Those headphones… They made you feel better?"

"Uh huh."

"You can have ’em."

Her head snapped to him, scrutinizing without saying a thing.

"I’ll buy another pair," he shrugged. "It’s nice, right? When you wear them and you feel yourself so… calm. And focused."

"Yeah…"

"Sometimes it’s nice to just be with yourself, ya know?"

She looked at him for a long moment till she nestled into his side. Tom held her there and kissed the top of her head. It was a good thing to be alone, he knew, but to be with the ones he loved wasn’t bad at all either.

At night, Becky went and saw Hannah to bed, nobody else privy to whatever sweetnesses Tom knew she would shower the girl with. He did not need to know the details to trust that she was treating her with extra kindness after the meltdown of the afternoon. He admired this in Becky, her relentless compassion and goodness of heart, but it had taken a whole new dimension now that they were raising children together. It was a safety he relied on, day in, day out, the complete certainty that she would give the children all the love they needed. And himself, too.

"Lex," he said, awkward despite his best efforts, "Your sister…"

Lex's shoulders were stiff with tension as she looked up from her phone and glanced at him − glared at him. The cat sensed her being upset and rubbed his head against her calves but she did not pay him any mind. Jake, outraged at being denied, raced up the stairs to find a better audience, Tom was sure, with Tim.

"Yeah?"

"She’s… I mean, she could be on the…" He sighed. "Has the doctor ever said anything?"

He loathed how scared and angry Lex was looking. She was always on the defensive, a natural mechanism when it came to her sister, but she did not always understand that Tom and her were on the same side of this. That he was as devoted to the girls’ wellbeing as Lex herself.

"There’s no doctor money, dude," she retorted. "The kids have said things, the teachers have said things for sure, but who’s gonna pay for visits? Not Toy Zone, I can tell you that."

" _I_ will," he said at once. "I’m not… trying to judge or anything. I’m trying to help. I wanna help."

His fingers tapped nervously on his lap, an old habit that stubbornly refused to die. Maybe it didn’t need to. He thought back on how Jane had phrased it, regulating emotions with self-created physical sensations. He thought of Hannah bouncing her legs, clenching her hands.

"The way she cried and all... That broke my heart. She should get help, you know? Like, putting a name on it or something."

"There _is_ a name," Lex replied evenly – Tom knew she was keeping calm out of some unfounded fear that lashing out would make him wroth or unwilling to keep the girls under his roof. "She's _autistic_. She's not crazy or dangerous, she's not dumb, she's just... She's great just the way she is."

"I know that!" He realized he had cried out a little loud and reached out to touch Lex’s hand and hold it soothingly. "I know. I agree. I, erm, I love you guys, you know that, right?"

Lex bit her lip as though this was, in fact, new information, but Tom only scooted closer and pulled her for a cuddle. He was relieved and surprised when she repaid it without hesitation.

"I think it’d be good to get help. I don’t wanna go behind your back when it comes to her, but I think it’s what we should do."

He scratched her scalp and Lex sighed comfortably.

"A’ight, fine, book an appointment or something. You have my permission, you happy?"

Tom huffed with contentment.

"Very," he replied. "Thanks, bud."

Later that week, Tom asked Becky to make an appointment for Hannah with St Damian’s psychiatrist. They would be settled on it, he thought, and the doctor might recommend a lot of things that would do Hannah much good. She had a better home now and he wanted to give her every reason to thrive.

After far too long a moment of hesitation, he sighed and reluctantly made the call for an appointment for himself as well. There was no reason why he or Hannah should have to go through this on their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!!!


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